


Solidarity Among Rockets

by Llybian



Series: Pokemon Drabbles [19]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, M/M, kokoshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llybian/pseuds/Llybian
Summary: “Oh great, it’s Botch,” James complained as he walked into the Team Rocket lounge. All he’d wanted was fifteen annoyance-free minutes. Jessie and Meowth were his friends and all, but traveling with them was a headache with no cure. All he’d wanted was quiet, but instead he’d have to listen to Botch’s unpleasant voice.
Relationships: Kojirou | James/Kosaburou | Butch
Series: Pokemon Drabbles [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079915
Kudos: 5





	Solidarity Among Rockets

“Oh great, it’s _Botch_ ,” James complained as he walked into the Team Rocket lounge. All he’d wanted was fifteen annoyance-free minutes. Jessie and Meowth were his friends and all, but traveling with them was a headache with no cure. All he’d wanted was quiet, but instead he’d have to listen to Botch’s unpleasant voice.

“I told you, the name’s _Butch!_ ” Butch croaked angrily, pointing with his cigarette.

“It doesn’t really matter,” James said lightly before taking a seat in a blood red Barcalounger next to the raspy rocket.

“It matters to me,” Butch said, gesturing to himself with his cigarette so that he nearly set the R on his shirt on fire. Noting James indifference, he groaned, putting his boots up on the footrest before taking a long drag and asking: “So what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be racing after that red-headed witch?”

“Jessie and Cassidy ran into each other in the exercise room,” James said with a sniff. “They got into a fight over earrings and challenged each other to a treadmill race.”

Butch raised a green eye-brow. “Treadmill race?”

“The first to fall loses,” James explained.

Butch tapped his cigarette against an ashtray shaped like a Raticate. “Cassidy will win, no problem. That swoosh-haired bimbo doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Not even the most petite possibility!” James alliterated. “Jessie will triumph terrifically.”

“No way,” Butch said, waving his gloved hand dismissively. “Our team is _far_ superior to yours.”

“Au contraire,” James countered, holding up an index finger as though to make a point, “Your team has an outdated, ripped off motto, ridiculously over-the-top posing, and _dreadful_ taste in uniforms.”

“Yeah?” Butch asked, slightly muffled by the cigarette in his mouth. “Well _your_ team is a failure, you can’t plan your way out of a paper bag, and aren’t postmodern enough to understand what a _favor_ we did to your motto.”

James blanched. “We are _so_ postmodern!” he shouted back. He didn’t know what it was, but for some reason he wanted to be it.

“Yeah _right_ ,” Butch said, shaking his head.

An angry silence passed between them, which cooled moment by moment until finally Butch asked, somewhat quietly: “Do you really think our uniforms are that bad?”

James hesitated for a moment. For a fashion-loving rocket, he knew that insulting clothing was hitting below the… well, the belt. “They’re not _that_ bad,” he admitted. “After all, black is slimming.”

“You think so?” Butch said, brightening slightly. Then his eyebrows narrowed. “Then why don’t you wear it?”

James puffed out his chest. “Because I don’t _need_ to wear black to look trim.”

Butch mumbled to himself in a cloud of smoke and could-be-swear-words before coming out with: “That’s probably just because you two are always broke. It’s easy to go on a diet when you have nothing to eat.”

James hung his head. That was technically true. He’d been thinking about writing a diet book singing the praises of poverty.

Butch noticed James’s falling expression and felt some remorse for his comment. He took his cigarette out of his mouth for a moment, exhaled and looked thoughtful. “Hey,” he said. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if it was us instead?”

“What do you mean?” James asked, wide-eyed.

“Like… we leave the divas behind or something,” he shrugged. “So’s then it’s just me and you as a team. We could do good, don’t you think? What do you suppose would happen?” he asked, somewhat uncertainly.

“Oh, that’s easy,” James said, utterly sure of himself. “Jessie would strangle us with our own intestines.”

“Oh,” Butch said, somewhat let down by this admittedly likely-correct response.

“But…” James said, noting Butch’s tone, “I guess it could be pretty good for the short time that we’re alive.”

“Really?”

“Really,” James said.

There was a moment between them that was just so… nice. It was so friendly and so strangely familiar that it was a shame that the talking cat had to come along and ruin everything.

“Jimmy, we got problems!” Meowth shouted. “Jessie and that Cassidy broad broke da tread—” He paused as he walked into the lounge and took in the two. He pointed at James wildly with a clawed paw. “What are ya doing consortin’ wit da enemy?!” he demanded.

“I’m not _consorting!_ ” James explained, holding up his hands. “This is just a simple casual camaraderie between competitors!”

“Yeah?” Meowth said suspiciously. “Well quit wit da camaraderie! Jessie and da other one’s got dere hair stuck in da mechanism and I can’t get ‘em out on my own.”

“Oh dear,” James said, putting a tired hand on his forehead. He stood up. “I’d better get to that then.”

Butch waved idly with his cigarette. “See you later, James,” he said, not unkindly.

“You’re not coming?” James asked.

“Nah,” Butch said. “Smoke break’s not over.”

“Alright,” James said, turning away. “Good bye then, Butch.”

“I told you!” Butch said, squeezing his cigarette between his gloved fingers. “The name’s—” He cut himself off. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “ _Oh._ ” He smiled.


End file.
